“You don’t owe me any explanations,” Jesse said, and he hoped she didn’t believe him.
“Fred and I have been out a few times. There’s nothing there — not for me, anyway; he’s just okay, no more. We met some other people at the Legion Hall for a dance, and I had a lot to drink, mostly because I wasn’t where I wanted to be, which was with you.”
Jesse flushed, and it felt wonderful.
“I was hungover, I guess, and I overslept. I’m sorry I wasn’t up to get your breakfast.”
“It’s okay,” he said, patting her knee.
“I told Fred Patrick last night that I wasn’t available anymore,” she said. “Maybe you think that’s rushing things, but it was the way I felt. Still do.”
“I’m glad you told him that,” Jesse said, and I’m glad you feel that way.
She reached over and kissed him lightly. “Carey’ll be in bed in half an hour,” she said. “I’ll come to you.”
As he climbed the stairs to his room Jesse was overcome with the feeling that he was now Jesse Barron, not Warden; that he had become the man he pretended to be. Reality was no longer the Atlanta pen and Kip Fuller and Dan Barker. Reality was St. Clair Wood Products and Jenny Weatherby and her little girl and fried chicken on the table. By the time he had crawled into bed the past was receding from him at the speed of light, and when Jenny opened his door and climbed into bed with him and pressed her naked body against his, he sloughed off the broken man called Jesse Warden like a dirty shirt.
Chapter 17
Pat Casey got out of his car and walked toward the church, nervous at the prospect of the meeting. He had known Jack Gene Coldwater for more than twenty years, and he could not remember a relaxed moment in his presence. There was something in the man that kept Casey on edge, but also something that made him want to please his leader.
Kurt Ruger was waiting in the anteroom and stood as Casey entered. They walked together to the office door and knocked.
“Come,” a deep voice replied.
The two men entered the room and took seats opposite the man who sat at the desk. Casey saw Coldwater only once a month, unless there was some special reason, and this was the regular monthly meeting.
Coldwater was bent over the desk, reading a document, and the sunlight through the window fell on his white hair, which was long and tied at the nape of the neck. The effect was nearly that of a halo, and Casey wondered if the man had planned it that way.
“Good morning, gentlemen,” Jack Gene Coldwater said in his rumbling voice.
“Morning, Jack Gene,” Casey said in unison with Ruger. They were the only ones who were allowed to call him that, in memory of their early days together in Vietnam.
“Let’s hear from finance first,” Coldwater said, nodding at Ruger. “Kurt?”
“You’ve seen the monthly financial statement,” Ruger said, indicating the document on Coldwater’s desk. “We’re in pretty good shape, if a little cash poor.”
“Did you talk to Schooner?”
Ruger nodded. “He poor-mouthed me; said the stock was down, and there’s a threat of an antitrust suit from the Justice Department over the acquisition of Security Software.”
“I told him to expect that,” Coldwater said. “It’s winnable.”
“I tried to buck him up, but he’s shaky. I think maybe you should consider talking to him.”
Coldwater swiveled in his chair and gazed out at the mountains, offering Ruger and Casey his Indian profile. “Perhaps it’s time we had Schooner up here for a little retreat; get his mind concentrated.”
“Excellent idea, Jack Gene,” Ruger said. “Shall I call him?”
“I’ll call him myself,” Coldwater said. “What else do you have for me?”
“Collections are coming in well, except for Herman Muller, of course.”
“Of course. He turned down our latest offer?”
“He did.”
“How much do you think he’ll take?”
“Jack Gene, it’s my feeling about Muller that he just won’t sell. He doesn’t need the money — I mean, the man’s an elderly, childless widower who lives like a monk; the business keeps him alive, and he knows it.”
“Maybe it’s time just to remove Muller from the scene,” Coldwater said. “He’s beginning to annoy me.”
“I’m not sure that’s wise,” Ruger said. “He’s childless, but he has relatives out of state. We don’t know who would inherit, and we could just be opening a big can of worms.”
Coldwater nodded, then turned back to face his two subordinates. “Let’s hear from security. Pat?”
Casey sat up a little straighter. “All’s well, Chief.”
“That’s it? ‘All’s well’?”
“Everything is running as smoothly as we could want. There’s no threat from any quarter. It’s what we’ve planned for all these years.”
“What about the new boy? I hear he did well during the bank robbery.”
“That’s true, although Frank damn near shot him. Barron’s settled down at the hopper, working his ass off. Settled in at home, too, from all appearances.”
“Good. He could still be a cop or a fed, though.”
“Possible, of course, but, in my judgment, very unlikely.”
“I’ve always trusted your judgment, Pat,” Coldwater said. “You’re a hard man to fool; you’ve proved it over the years.”
“Thanks, Chief.”
“But we’re entering a critical time.”
“I know that, Jack Gene, and that’s why I’ve been so careful with him. I’ve checked him every which way, and he adds up.”
“If the feds were putting in a new man, they’d have an airtight background for him, wouldn’t they?”
“It’s not just his background, though that certainly checks out. It’s the kind of man he is. I’ve known one hell of a lot of cops, and, believe me, he doesn’t fit the mold. I’ve nudged him a little, and—”
“Nudged him? How?”
“I let Phil Partain push him, just to see how he’d react.”
“And how did he react?”
“He didn’t take the bait, but he didn’t back down, either. I think Partain’s a little scared of him.”
“Partain’s a bully; he’s scared of anybody who stands up to him,” Coldwater said.
“That’s true,” Casey agreed, “and it would take a pretty sharp guy to figure that out right off the bat. Partain’s got a real mean streak; Barron could have walked into a buzz saw, but he didn’t. Partain was impressed; so was I, when I heard about it.”
Coldwater gazed off into the middle distance. “Doesn’t fight, but doesn’t back down; I like it. That’s how I chose you, Pat; did you know that?”
Casey blinked. “No, I didn’t.”
“The first time I laid eyes on you was some godawful bar in Saigon. There was a drunk marine raising hell, and he tried to take you on. I liked the way you handled him; you didn’t fight him, but you didn’t back down.”
“I remember that,” Casey said. “It was quite a while before we met.”
“I marked you down on the spot,” Coldwater said. “Later on, I got you transferred.” He winked at Ruger. “I picked Kurt, here, for different reasons.”
“Partain says Barron’s foreman likes him, that he’ll recommend to Muller to move him to the line, when a vacancy comes. Partain doesn’t like that, figures he’s in line first.”
“Tell you what,” Coldwater said. “Let Barron stew on the hopper for a couple of weeks more, then make a vacancy.”
“One of our people?” Casey asked.
“Certainly not,” Coldwater replied. “One of Muller’s.”
“Consider it done.”
“I know you’ll do it subtly, Pat; you usually do.”
“I will.”